from La casa de la niebla [The House of Fog]
Translated from the Spanish by Jessica Sequeira
lord, you gave my brother a red ford falcon
to arrive at the house of fog
and then what
did you tell him?
did you explain to him that the road was cut off?
that the motor was broken?
that everything was broken?
that there was no going back?
what did you do, how
did you convince him
such that he gave you his hand
sat down in the little seat of lies
and let the dark host of your name
reach his mouth
or did you put a stone there?
a coin, a hook,
a piece of paper
from which you silenced him, made him
what signs could you have made such that instead of coming home
he turned off the motor of the falcon
slipped away from the silky perfection of the leather
the music on the radio
the heated purr of the car
and climbed down with you
to go where
to hunt little birds?
to watch the golden grass dying after the winter fire?
to break the pane of water so that the animals could drink?
or maybe it was summer by then
and you gave him the dangerous water of your sky
charming, that water, yes
so clear, that water, so good
but behind this you know that such water creates more thirst
you buried yourself in the well deeper
until you threw dirt on your own back
and not even the constant and powerful angel of the windmills
could save you
did you know my brother was going to say yes?
when you saw the dust rise up from the red falcon in the road
didn’t you think of letting him go?
even if, lord, it was because he was total beauty
at that age,
reason for being
we planted a tree by the house of fog
in the light the sunflowers turned gold
another day died
the tree grew, put down roots
in the shadows
it modeled its stature with bone
every bird that tried the fruits
drifted into sleepiness
into absence from life
into the radical blindness of the dead
no, my house didn’t collapse
the windows didn’t shake
the spider didn’t even fall out of the poppy of hell
everything came, began from within:
an eye swallowed us
we were or are
the corruptible bread
for every bone there was a mouth
a different hunger
ferocious, the eye chose
the Essential one
the Sweet One
the one that kept singing
we are so sad without him
sometimes there’s nothing to say, you know?
there’s no strength to talk of things from life
but the rains come, at times,
which are calm and make music in the gutters
the rains come from the east to anoint the wound
to make the flowers of flesh grow
the angel prepares the patio
behind the privet, the Sweet One is born again
he tells me: little sister, put your hand
on my heart
it makes the same sound as the horses,
isn’t it a miracle?
many times we were poor
there was no money for clothes or music, but
the magnificent drill of god
pierced into the morning
the doves scattered
as if they’d seen
the possum or the falcon
a piece of me entered into bitterness
like the pit at the mill
where the snake infected
the drinking water
just a few years old and already i was
i knew the supreme one could crush my head
make our sheep ill
take away our summer, the small joy we had
all the same i always looked up
and in a low voice said
yes lord, may the destruction come to me
that must come
i am your furrow, lord,
i am your furrow